Scarlet and Silver
by Enelya
Summary: The life of Galadriel has taken many twists and turns. Here are some drabbles that address some of them. Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales references abound, reviews always welcome.
1. love

**1. love**

_Was this love?_ she thought as Fëanor's eyes followed her. His mind burned, constantly forging ideas, smelting them, tempering them. She would not love a man who knew no other way of meeting minds but overpowering them, she decided, and refused him when he asked for a lock of her hair.

_Was this love?_ she thought as Celebrimbor watched her in Eregion, his work-roughened hands closing over hers as he gave her the Elessar still warm from the forge. She would not love a man who lived in his grandfather's shadow, she decided, and refused him when he asked for her hand.

_Was this love?_ she thought as she danced with Celeborn under the stars, only their fingertips touching – and she banished the question from her mind, along with all other suitors.

If this was not love, she did not think that she had any use for the emotion.

* * *

AN: Everything belongs to Tolkien, of course. These drabbles are from general prompts at Tolkien's Realm on livejournal, but I got a strong Galadriel vibe from them and so mine are going to be all about her. Warning: Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales refs have a strong tendency to sneak in here! Reviews and feedback of any sort would be awesome.


	2. fear

**2. fear - 143**

She had never feared for herself – after all, she could fight as well as any man with sword, spear and bow, and with Nenya on her finger and Melian's teachings, she kept the darkness at bay in her own mind and others. She was never afraid for her own sake – it was her family she feared for instead. Brothers, cousins, her daughter and grand-daughter: all lost because she could not protect them.

Never-the-less, it was herself that she was afraid for now.

Starlight turned the ring in the halfling's hand to cold silver. She reached out… One moment, so tense she thought she might shatter, and the next, slowly breathing again in relief. She glanced down at her hand – it was empty.

_I do not have to fear myself anymore_, she thought, and laughed as a wind from the west brushed her face.


	3. sword

**3. sword - 150**

Her teeth jarred as the swords came together, and the clash left her ears ringing, but she persisted, parrying the next blow. Lightly, she stepped around her opponent until the light was at her back and then moved forward, pressing her advantage. Her adversary gave way, and overconfident, she prepared for a killing blow – only to have her sword jerked from her hand, clattering across the yard.

She muttered a most unladylike curse.

'I'm sure Father would be interested to learn where you heard that.' Aegnor pulled off his helmet, smiling at her. 'You're learning fast, Artanis. You might even best me one day.'

--

Eärwen shook her head as she watched her children from the window. 'I still don't know what she sees in it.'

'Neither do I, for that matter.' Finarfin smiled as his daughter went to retrieve her weapon. 'But if she enjoys it, what's the harm?'

* * *

AN: I know these jump all over the place in terms of time, but I write as the muses direct me. I hope everyone's enjoying these, and thanks for the reviews!


	4. family

**4. family - 146**

The names matched her plodding feet as they crossed the land. Aegnor, Angrod, Finrod, Orodreth – gone. Finduilas, her shy niece – gone. Her cousins: valiant Fingon, wise Turgon, proud Aredhel – gone. The cursed Fëanorians – gone, and good riddance.

Only Gil-galad would be left to tell her story, and she hoped Finarfin would not stoop to regicide. She hated the way it looked, the spoilt daughter fleeing from her father's admonitions, but there was no other way.

In fact, it was not that at all.

Her father, whose kindness carried more weight than his anger – he would want her to return to Valinor, and she did not know if she was strong enough to refuse him.

Behind her, her followers' feet kicked up the dust, leaving a trail that stretched across all Beleriand. Their leader turned her face to the east, and swore she would not regret this.

* * *

AN: There is no date for when Galadriel passed into the east of Middle-earth, or rather, there are several options. In FOTR she says that she came over the mountains before Nargothrond fell, but 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn' has several other dates listed. I think you could make an argument for all of them, and I chose this one for dramatic convention.


	5. red

**5. red**

After Alqualondë, it was an unspoken rule in her family that no-one would wear red. Nerwen would have sulked at the censure of her favourite colour, Artanis would have worn it head to toe in defiance, but Galadriel saw the wisdom of it and wore blues, greys, greens, whites – Sindar colours.

Time passed, and the colour became a memory. Elrond did not wear it, perhaps for the same reasons as her; and neither her daughter, husband nor grandsons had the right colouring. Something bloomed inside her, however, when she saw Arwen dressed in rubies and bright scarlet – passion, desire, a heart beating again.


	6. forest

**13. forest - 133**

_The woods of Arcady are dead,  
And over is their antique joy;  
Of old the world on dreaming fed;  
Grey Truth is now her painted toy_

* * *

Lothlórien is dying.

Celeborn tries not to see it, and for him she wills Nenya to ever greater spells, wishing that the golden leaves will never fade. The mellyrn bloom later every year, the white trunks of her trees becoming like bones. The people see nothing wrong; she is torn between wanting them to notice and wanting to shield them from such a sight. It is a terrible thing to watch one you love succumb to the shadow.

Then she realises: Lothlórien is dying.

The forest is not.

The beeches, oaks and elms will continue on without the golden leaves striking highlights in the foliage. The people will go on, even Celeborn, an it grieve him.

But the golden dream, so nearly gone, was for her, and she will follow her dreamflower home.

* * *

AN: Thank-you, everyone, for all the lovely reviews - I'm glad you're enjoying these little snapshots into Galadriel's life. This is the point at which the prompt numbers get weird, because I've written them out of order. This is the thirteenth prompt, as you can see, but it was the next that I wrote. I hope I haven't confused anybody. Galadriel, Celeborn, Lothlórien and everything else in Arda belongs to Tolkien. The quote is from the beginning of a poem called 'The Song of the Happy Shepherd' by W.B. Yeats.


	7. door

**19. door **

_Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.  
Gaze no more in the bitter glass_

* * *

'Must you?' he asks as she fills the basin.

'I need to see things that only the mirror can show.'

'Then let me come with you.'

'You?' It comes out as a gasp.

He tilts his head a little, smiling at her archly. 'I.'

'It may show you untruths, things long past, things that have yet to pass and may never happen…'

'Then it will be no different to what I have seen before in my life.' His eyes are bright with daring. 'Come, now. At the worst I will see no more than the reflected moon.'

Oh, that is not the worst he might see – and yet, she is curious. 'Very well. Do not touch the water.'

'Aye, lady,' he says softly, and they bend to look into the mirror.

Some time later, when she has seen all there is to see, she looks up to find him watching her silently. He is like the moon in her mirror, with not a breath of colour in his face.

'What did you see?'

'Doors. A thousand doors, and more, each opening into darkness. I saw you walk through one and come out another, again and again, but I would not pass through.'

'Would you not?'

'No.'

'For fear of the monsters inside?' she says playfully.

'For fear of never returning,' he replies, his face grave, and strides quickly away before she can say that this time, at least, she saw nothing but the moon's reflection.

* * *

AN: Celeborn and Galadriel - aren't they awesome together? Thanks for all the reviews. Think carefully about the last line for this one. Today's quote is Yeats once again, from his poem 'The Two Trees'.


	8. cup

**20. cup - 414**

'_Sí man i yulma nin equantuva?_'

'Since I have had that honour at least three times this evening, I may as well do it again.' Celeborn grasped the bottle and leaned towards her, pouring a thin stream of golden liquid into the cup.

'Have a care, you're spilling it!'

'An inevitable consequence when the hand that holds the cup shakes so.'

'Nonsense. My hand is as steady as the ground beneath our feet–'

'That's rather a moot point, dear. We're sitting in a tree.'

'–I think it rather the fault of the hand that pours the wine, which now trembles like leaves in a spring wind.'

'In any case, the bottle is now empty.' Celeborn tucked it between two branches for safekeeping. Galadriel sipped slowly, cautious now that her supply was limited.

'Ah, most potent. And the taste! Like apple-blossom and honey, with oak and water from a mountain stream for good measure.' She smiled at Elrond. 'If you always keep such ambrosia in your house, then we must visit more often.'

'Alas, I cannot claim this as my own invention.' Her son-in-law performed a mock bow. 'The keeper and custodian of so fine a brew is rather your northern neighbour.'

'Then we must come to stand on better terms with him, mustn't we, dear?'

'Although it pains me to say it, dearest, I am not confident that Thranduil will heal the rift between Lothlórien and Eryn Galen purely for the sake of wine appreciation.'

'On the contrary, that would be perhaps the only thing to convince him of the wisdom of such an act!'

'Mother!' Celebrían held her cup a safe distance away from her dress lest her giggling caused it to overflow. 'Really, Mother, you are quite gregarious when drunk!'

'I am always gregarious, dear, and I am _not_ drunk. I feel perfectly fine, and I rather think that now would be an excellent time to begin writing that letter to Thranduil…'

'But there's no paper in the tree, Mother.'

'Then I shall rely on you to recite this for me when I do acquire some. Let us begin: Dear Thrandruil, I have discovered that you are in possession of the finest wine beneath the sun, and feel it terribly important that we heal our differences and have a wonderful feast to celebrate the happy occasion–'

'_Galadriel!_' three voices chorused.

'No? Well, I shall certainly extend my hospitality to his folk when next they come to Lothlórien…'

* * *

AN: In all my long years as a ficcer, I never expected to write drunk Galadriel and Celeborn, but they turned out to be rather entertaining, eh? If you don't recognise the first line, it's from 'Galadriel's Lament' in The Fellowship of the Ring, and translates as 'who now shall refill the cup for me?'. Many thanks, as always, for the reviews and the feedback.


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